


The day Castiel came back

by alternate_me



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Far Future, Feelings, Future Castiel, Future Dean Winchester, Future Fic, Gen, Goodbyes, Impala, Lies, M/M, Old Dean, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternate_me/pseuds/alternate_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean had never thought he'd end up like that: alone, in a calm house surrounded by fields and woods. As the years went by, Dean had got used to his new life - to Sam's occasional visits, to the few hunting trips he still went on. But he had slowly lost touch with Cas, till their lives had taken completely different paths. To Dean's surprise, however, one of his old phones rung one day, Cas was on the other side of the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to say that this story is bittersweet. But then, I read it again and I couldn't find the "sweet" in it.  
> To sum up, this is a story I've been writing for some time now, although it's not very long. In part, it is full of angst because I decided to write it in a moment when I was feeling hopeless about Destiel (those times when you go "Oh, they will _never_ get together, will they?"). So, I wrote a fic in a reality where they never actually do. They don't tell each other their feelings, they just keep going (as they're doing in the tv show right now), and then Dean decides it's time to stop hunting, and they lose contact slowly as the years go by. So, fifteen years after the last time they saw each other, they meet again, and... that's about it.

I love you as the plant that never blooms  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;  
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,  
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.  
Pablo Neruda, Sonnet XVII

 

There was a house a couple of hours away from the bunker, and Dean had been living there since the whole thing had ended - since they’d decided it had ended. It was a house far from the nearest city, isolated, surrounded by fields and woods. Its wooden walls were of a vivid red, and, in front of the house, there were a white picket fence and a mail box. It was the last place Dean’d ever thought he’d end up in.

Back when he’d first moved in, he’d endured. The walls used to be covered with many pieces of newspapers reporting strange crimes. He’d rarely be at home, picking up as many cases as he could. Maybe that way he didn’t have to go back home by himself.

Sam would visit him sometimes, sure. And, while he was there, it would be like in the old times. They would talk about what was new in their lives, and what was still the same. And they could go on like this for hours, because time didn’t matter when Dean wasn’t alone. But then, every time Sam turned his back at him and waved before getting in the car, the caged words inside Dean’s chest would almost find a way out. They were always stopped by the lump in his throat, and the shout for help would remain silent.

Dean’d called Cas in the first months after he’d moved in – when Sam had got married. During the last years, they had seen each other only a few times, as Dean and Sam had decided to stop getting involved in bigger issues than sporadic hunts, and, therefore, Dean would call Cas less often. But then, when’d he called him after he was living alone, Cas hadn’t showed up, and Dean had waited and then got worried. 

However, he knew from Sam that the angel had showed up a couple of times to get information on alter subjects which would help him on fights that, from that moment on, they had fought alone. Dean had kept calling him, till he got angry at Cas. Then he’d stopped for a month or two, but when he couldn’t bore the loneliness anymore, he would call him again, just to have no answer back.

Dean had resisted fine for some years. But he woke up more often as time went by, as he thought things he’d never considered before. Day by day, year by year, time slid through his fingers, in a way that someday you wake up and you’re past fifty, and in the other you reach sixty. Dean had never worried about dying, he’d always assumed he’d be long dead by now, killed by a demon, angel or else. He’d thought Death couldn’t scare him anymore, not after all he’d seen.

He was wrong.

First, it was his body. It couldn’t keep fighting, it got tired. Dean would fell asleep much easier, and get hurt and broken more often. It felt like he wanted to scape that, that he wanted to keep staying in crappy motel rooms and drinking and going after hot girls he met at bars. But those ideas were trapped inside a body that wouldn’t respond like it used to do.

Then it was his head. Being alone for so long didn’t do him good. And the rest, which was his only comfort, would be interrupted endless times when he started waking up in the middle of the night. The sad memories he’d been able to keep far away while hunting now came back, and he was tormented by them on a daily basis.

He used to cry some nights when he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d prayed so desperately that he had been sure that Cas would show up. But he hadn’t. Dean had almost picked up the phone to call Sam, to say that he wanted to get back to a life which didn’t existed anymore. That he wanted all they had agreed upon went to hell.

But he wouldn’t do it, not that time. 

Then there came better times, when Dean accepted his situation. It took him very long, it caused damages and left marks that would never heal, and he would never be the same man he was before. But now the terrors and the nights had passed. He let go of hunting –and would just do so when it was a local thing he’d heard about, what didn’t happen that often in a place like that. He threw out the news on the wall, he sold many of his guns and the rest of them was locked in a bin. And he could finally look ahead.

He brought tins of paint from town one day. He painted the house and fixed some broken things in it. He’d clean it and take care of it every day, and then he would watch television, drink some beer and go to sleep. He would wake up in the mornings to see the sun bathing the trees in its golden water. A couple of times a month, he would go to the nearest bar to get a drink and play poker with a few acquaintances who soon got used to his quiet way and didn’t ask a lot of questions –although they enjoyed coming up with guesses among them about what was that man’s story. 

And then, just when Dean’d forgotten about all of that. Just when he’d stopped praying at night, when he had got a little used to waking up in the morning to a safe place, when he’d got satisfied with the calm view of the fields. Then the old phone in the secret compartment of his drawer had rung. Castiel was on the other side of the line. Dean had got surprised; Cas’s voice had grown weird to his ears.

Cas needed something, some papers from the bunker, he had said, to help him solve something very serious going on in Heaven. He hadn’t specified anything, and Dean hadn’t asked either. They had decided to go to the bunker on the next day, at 8 a.m. And then, at the end of the conversation, Cas had said a “Goodbye, Dean” - which he hadn’t heard in a long time -, and had hung up.

It took hours for Dean to sleep that night. The sudden call, Cas’s voice, it had all woken up memories inside of his head. Memories that always lead to a melancholic state of mind, into missing things and wishing time could move backwards. The surprise and sudden gladness from the call had soon become anger, a desperate anger and anxiousness that kept him from sleeping. He’d first thought he was angry at Cas for just calling in now, but then he’d realized it was more than that. It was a bit of anger at everything, at every aspect of his now ordinary life, at the man he had become, that bothered him. He felt worthless.

At most, he slept two hours, and was up early, without even needing an alarm to wake him up. He was too worried, too anxious to sleep. His eyes hurt when he opened them, protesting against the few hours of rest. He stared, for several minutes, at the ceiling of his bedroom, his thoughts never going quiet in his head. Then he got up, dressed himself, brushed his teeth and went downstairs to the kitchen, intending to prepare a quick snack he’d eat on the way. No pancakes that morning.

He prepared two sandwiches and put them with the other things he’d packed last night. Some clothes, some guns, just in case. Then he grabbed a cup of coffee he’d made and put on his jacket, ready to face the stunning cold of early December. 

Dean opened the front door and locked it behind him, taking a sip of the steaming coffee. He’d got to the middle of the front stairs when he looked up to see the Impala. But it wasn’t the car that first got his attention, it wasn’t it that made him drop the coffee, it was the man leaning on it.

Dean hadn’t seen Cas for fifteen years.

They hadn’t set anything right, but Dean had thought Cas would wait for him at the bunker - at the scheduled time-, but, apparently, Cas hadn’t understood it that way. He stood there, his head down, looking at the ground, waiting. He was still wearing the trench coat, although his white shirt had been changed by a light blue one, and his suit was now grey. Apart from that, he looked just the same, which made a bit of sudden anger come to Dean’s chest.

But then Cas looked up and his eyes widened a little at the sight of him, and Dean wondered - with sorrow – how did he look like now. How much he’d changed from the last time they had met, how unrecognizable he was to Cas. 

Cas straightened his back as Dean descended the stairs. Each second Dean continued seeing Cas there, in front of him, dig out his now long abandoned feelings. The longing, the memories from past, more complicated times came to him; and, when he got to Cas, he hugged him tight, a lump starting to be formed in his throat.

“Dean” Cas said, and then hugged him back.

Maybe his hug was a little colder than Dean’s. Cas was never the most spontaneous guy, and - just as when Dean had first met him - the lack of human touch was now evident on his moves. Dean held Cas for a moment longer before letting him go, lowering his head and passing his fingers over his closed eyes, trying to control himself.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked, his voice still the same, the tone still the same. Nothing had changed to him. Nothing had changed him.

Dean nodded quickly and then he chuckled, whispering “ _Sure_ ”.

“Can you tell me…” Dean started, raising his head and facing Cas “Why _in hell_ have you not answered me?”

Dean had told himself he wouldn’t bring that subject up. He didn’t need to know why Cas had forgotten about him. It just proved how greatly wrong he had been about how much Cas cared about him. He didn’t need justifications from someone who’d treated him like Cas had. He’d told himself it would just be a professional trip; he’d try not to get sensitive. 

But all those resolutions were instantly broken once he saw Cas. Maybe for not seeing him in so long, Dean had forgotten how much he cared about him, how much all the things they’ve gone through still weighted over him. Now he realized he’d been lying to himself, that there was no way he would let it go. He just needed that answer.

Cas lowered his eyes, his posture was defensive, his hands in his pockets. He looked to the side.

“I’ve been _really_ busy in Heaven” he finished, still not facing Dean.

Dean frowned and smirked a bit, sarcastically.

“I’m sorry, come again?”

Cas turned his head at him. His eyes were a bit melancholic, and the way he looked at Dean showed that he knew Dean had understood it, and he knew he was mad at him. But still, he swallowed and lowered his eyes again.

“I’ve been really busy i-“

“If you say that again, I _swear_ I’m going to punch you” Dean interrupted, not making any efforts to hide his disappointment and anger any longer.

“It _is_ the truth, Dean” Cas’s voice was harsher. He raised his head and looked at Dean with surprisingly cold eyes. Suddenly, they weren’t sad like before, there was no shame on them anymore. It was just like the time before the Apocalypse, when Cas still obeyed Heaven blindly, before Cas had become his friend.

That scared Dean a little. For one moment, the man in front of him was almost a total stranger. 

_Dammit, Cas. What happened to you up there?_

“Over the past years, there have been five rebellions in Heaven, four angelic wars, and _I_ ’ve been in the middle of them. I had responsibilities towards my own kind, Dean. There was no time for-“

“An old friend?” Dean chuckled, still facing Cas, the anger still burning up inside him “Come on, you really think I’m going to bite the story that there was no time? _At all_?”

“Yes”

The way the word left his mouth bothered Dean even more. His tone was suddenly calmer, as if he held the ultimate truth and Dean was just a stubborn child.

“Yeah, well, you could tell it to Sam, then. He actually said you visited him a couple of times”

“Only when it was extremely necessary for settling things in Heaven”

Dean almost punched Cas then, but he contained the impulse. He shook his head and looked down, chuckling again. He couldn’t believe that Cas was actually saying that.

“I don’t know what happened to you up there, Cas” he pointed upwards after a moment of silence “But you didn’t use to be such a son of a bitch”

Dean turned his back on him, and passed his hand over his face. God, he was tired of all that. He closed his eyes, even considering that Cas would have disappeared when he turned back, just as he used to do. But, a while later, Dean listened to his voice again.

“What do you want me to say?”

At those words, Dean turned to face Cas again. His voice had sounded defensive, and Dean found out that the coldness of his eyes had almost completely disappeared. Cas looked at him in a questioning, sad way. 

“I don’t know,” Dean said, felling that at least a part of the Castiel he knew was still there, behind his cold, inhuman movements. Dean felt he’d soon get some answers. 

“Tell me that you left me because you got fed up with me, that you wanted to do it. _Anything_ but this crap”

Cas continued facing him with melancholic eyes. The angel hadn’t changed physically, Dean thought, but, in the end, he was as different as the rest of them. His answer took a while.

“You said it, Dean, when you decided it was time for resting, when you told us to go on our own paths. Doing that demands sacrificing habits from your past life, you said it yourself”

“Well, I didn’t mean- I never meant to-” for a moment, Dean felt an urge to forgive Cas, to believe that he was really _meaning_ those things. But Cas not answering him wasn’t his fault. He had been responsible for many things in his life, but not _that_. 

“I prayed to you, Cas. I asked for your help. Wasn’t that a clue, that, well, maybe I needed you?” 

Cas looked down again, avoiding Dean’s gaze, but he didn’t say anything. Dean kept looking at him, at his old and dear friend whom he didn’t believe was there. Dean waited for an explanation, for _something_ to give reason to the past years, to Castiel’s silence.

But, after a moment, Dean lowered his head, when he noticed Cas wasn’t willing to say anything. He considered the situation for a while and then he picked the bag he’d left on the ground and walked towards the driver door. 

“Okay, then. You know, we won’t discuss it anymore” Dean said as he passed by Cas “Let’s finish it, let’s take these papers so you can be on your way”

He opened the door of the Impala and got in, throwing the bag on the back seat, and then - after adjusting himself on his seat - unlocked the passenger door. Cas followed Dean with his eyes as he passed by him. There was still that sadness upon the angel, which seemed to weight on his shoulders and to give his eyes a much older aspect. He remained silent as he waited for Dean to open the door. For one second, it looked like Castiel was about to say something, but then, in the next one, he lowered his eyes and kept quiet. However, the words never left his eyes. 

 

***

 

As Dean drove fast through the highway, Cas made two attempts of starting a conversation, to which Dean increased the volume of the radio in response. He kept his eyes on the road the entire time, refusing even to look at Cas for more than just a glace now and then. 

After the few frustrated attempts of getting Dean’s attention, Cas leaned on the seat, sighing, a bit frustrated. He decided to enjoy the view then, once they were stuck in the car for the next couple of hours and talking didn’t seem to be an option.

The sky was grey; it looked like it could rain at any time. Cas’s eyes were adrift, he looked to the sceneries outside for a moment - the trees hit by the strong wind that was now blowing, the few drops that started to fall on the windshield -, not really concentrated on any of them. Then he would turn his head again and pass his eyes over the panel of the car. 

Dean had kept the Impala in good conditions. He had made a few adjustments, the radio was different and Castiel assumed that the old one should be completely beyond repair for Dean to allow it to be replaced. Apart from that, it was the same car Castiel remembered, like a little piece of the past that refused to change while the whole world around it did.

Castiel smiled. The classic rock played on the radio; that particular smell which seemed never to leave the leather seats impregnated his nose. And – of all the times when he’d been in that seat back in the old days - he suddenly recalled the night when Dean had dropped him off at Nora’s for his "date", particularly the few moments before he’d got out of the car. 

He remembered how Dean’s eyes had lingered over him for a moment, the urge to help vivid on them. Cas’d never believed that Dean’s enthusiasm had as its main purpose getting him a date. It had been guilt - he comprehended later, when the whole Gadreel thing came up -, guilt for having allowed an angel to possess his brother, and guilt for having to kick Cas out of the bunker. But Dean’d really wanted Sam to be safe, as he’d wanted Cas to be happy. And when humans want something really bad - instead of telling them the truth - they tell you which clothes look good on you so you can go on your fun night.

Castiel knew he shouldn’t miss all of that. And still he did. Sure, they had chosen to leave behind the tension and the endless fighting that ruled their lives back then, but those weren’t the only things they’d abdicated. His smile slowly faded as the rain started to pour. His eyes instinctively looked for Dean, maybe trying to complete his line of thoughts. 

Now Cas could observe more calmly the almost totally grey hair on Dean’s head, and the also silver beard he’d grown. His eyes lingered over the wrinkles on Dean’s face, and on the glasses that rested on his nose. 

That morning, before Dean walked out of the door, Cas hadn’t built wonderings about his new appearance, he hadn’t worried about it, because he _knew_ how he’d look like. And the old Dean who’d stopped on the top of the stairs was the same Dean he’d met in that barn years ago. The same soul, the same scars – although there were a few more of them now.

But then, as Dean got closer, Cas noticed the tired expression, he noticed the changes on his features, and that fear - which had never actually left him in all of those years - hit him again. 

If God _truly_ loved humanity – as it was said – how could He allow those lost, dreamy creatures to grow old, to decay, to turn into dust, into nothing? Cas had never asked himself that. He’d seen whole civilizations being erased from creation, he’d lived and seen centuries of the fragile nature of being human, but it was just after he’d met Dean that the presence of time itself had started to weight on his shoulders.

For him, Dean was still the same. The eternity of his soul didn’t trick him. But then he could feel the desperate look on Dean’s face, and it scared him. It scared him as no other thing had ever done before. Because he _knew_ what would come next, he’d seen that a hundred times, and it was never beautiful - it was never peaceful - watching the collapse of a life.

The fear which haunted most men was there, daring to show in the corner of the former bright eyes; the shadow of Death stained the once light and sarcastic smile. Dean was stern. All those years had changed him, and old age wasn’t interesting, it wasn’t lyric. It was real. Scary, concrete _reality_. And all of it just made Cas even sadder.

The rain was now calmer and Cas was still adrift when Dean glanced at him again. His green eyes rested over the angel’s unspoiled features, and he was about to look back at the road when Cas was suddenly dragged out of his line of thoughts and instinctively looked at him. 

Their gazes met just for a few seconds, but Cas could see a glimpse of his old eyes behind the glasses, and they were still hurt. And he wished badly that he could say something that would change it, but the words escaped him, and he froze, feeling frustrated, powerless. He couldn’t raise Dean out of that. Not this time.

And then those few unexpected words from before crawled up his throat again and Cas was about to say them when Dean grunted and turned his eyes back to the road, hurrying to switch the song on the radio. Castiel looked down as the new louder song made it almost impossible the bare thought of initiating a conversation, and his eyes went quiet. The early silence was restored in the air between them. So Cas raised his head again and focused his attention on the road for the rest of the way.

As the angel watched the blurred view in front of him, he wondered how many drops of water had already fallen on the windshield, and how many more of them were yet to fall. It wasn’t a beautiful day outside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is still mad at Cas because of his silence over the years. However, as they get to the bunker, the old memories make a few things to start changing. And Dean feels the known need of settling things between them is coming back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part where I got stuck. And it took me some time till I settle it the way I wanted to.  
> So, I hope you guys enjoy it.

Dust. 

It’s been years since they’d been down there, in the bunker, and it looked just like the one they’d found in the first time, but the known musty air was even harder to breathe. 

Dean stopped on the top of the stairs for a bit and just let the view take him back for a while. He was breathing slowly, and he thought that maybe he’d seen a shade of Charlie’s red hair in one side of the room, and Kevin’s black one at the study desk.

He sighed.

Sam entered the room just below him and raised his voice as he said the familiar _“So, get this”_ sentence of when he’d found them a case. The old Cas, with his black suit and blue tie was there, sitting on the table, and Dean was almost sure he was looking at him without having to move his head from the glass of whisky he was sipping. The smell of it all came back to him all of a sudden.

And then gray-suited-Castiel passed by him, and he blinked, turning his head away and vanishing the memories quickly. Cas glanced at him, then he turned back and descended the stairs, silently, almost resentful. _As if he was the one to be angry_ , Dean thought. 

Cas started to move some boxes out of place in the room below, and, by the time Dean had gotten to the first floor, Cas had already discarded three of them and was moving to the next one.

“So, you apparently have been here more recently than I have” Dean said, as he reached Cas and leaned on the table. 

Cas raised his head and looked at Dean obliquely. He gulped and then lowered his eyes again, continuing to look for something in the box in front of him.

“Why Sam?”

Cas stopped and straightened his back. He let his arms fall to the sides of his body.

“Dean…”

“I don’t want to hear excuses, Cas. I’ve just asked you a question, I don’t want to know anything else”

Cas looked at the hardened green eyes and lowered his face, resigned.

“He lives near here”

Dean kept looking at him, he could see that it was not even close to the truth, that there was much more to it, and he felt like talking to Cas, as they did in the old times. He felt a sudden urge to tell him what he had buried in his chest - all of his sadness and doubts, maybe even regrets. But he breathed out slowly, putting his thoughts into order, and then he just nodded.

“Oh, right. Sure” he said, his voice still sarcastic, but with a small difference. It wasn’t very obvious, but he could feel the sensation running through his body, or the lack of it. He was calming down, his rage was cooling.

When he focused his attention on Cas, he was searching the box again. Dean looked at him and tried to keep mad at him, he looked at that strange gray suit and hoped it kept him angry. Cas had left him, and it hadn’t been his fault. And Dean hated the fact that - even after all of that - there was that old sensation coming back to him - the impulse to forgive him, to set things right between them.

“You want my help?” he asked after a while, weighting his words.

_Take these papers so you can be on your way. Don’t get involved._

If only he understood Cas’s motives.

“Yes” Cas answered, raising his head at something he might have detected in Dean’s voice “I’m looking for the archives on Archangels and another one on unexplained miracles. I’m almost sure I’ve seen one of these boxes in the dungeon once” he finished, and then added quickly “If you don’t mind, of course”

Dean stood still for a brief moment. Then he nodded and moved from the table, walking slowly to the door that would take him to the dungeon. He walked calmly, even though his hands were closed into fists for no apparent reason. 

He felt as if _he_ should say something. There were some words missing in all that situation, but he couldn’t find them. He felt dislocated, disorientated from stepping and walking around that place after all those years. 

An uncomfortable feeling started to emerge on his chest, and he suddenly felt anxious, he felt like kicking something, like he’d explode at any moment in tears and screaming, as if by those actions he could put all of those feelings out of him, away from him. 

Then Dean suddenly stopped, realizing he wasn’t in front of the dungeon door. He was, instead, in front of his bedroom door, taken by his steps - which apparently hadn’t forgotten the way to it even after all of those years. 

They had taken him home.

He stood there for some indecisive seconds, his breathing getting quicker, instable. Then he opened the door and his eyes were hurt a little by the white, clean walls. 

Home. 

If it wasn’t for the symbol he’d hung on the door - which they’d never thrown away - he wouldn’t even have recognized it.

He entered the room which was now strange to him. He walked around it for some moments, looking at the few boxes on the ground, trying to find something, trying to feel something. But it could have been anyone’s room, he didn’t feel like belonging there. 

The room his steps had sought was lost in the past, and the feeling he was looking for - the comfort he had found there so many times - he could never find again. Not the same one, at least. Not the one he wanted so badly.

He closed the door on his way out, without looking back. And he did not pay attention to a few tears that blurred his vision, but refused to fall on his face. He moved on, he raised his head and looked ahead. _Focus_. He looked for the dungeon. He had to find those boxes so he’d go back.

***

When Dean came back, carrying two boxes on his arms, Castiel was leaning on a wall, looking at the ground, thoughts lost somewhere else. He looked sad, Dean stated, a little surprised.

Seeing Cas stopped there, Dean suddenly felt he should _really_ talk to him. No. He _needed_ talking to him. It was all he wanted right now, something old, something he could relate to. Those old blue eyes which understood him, and cared for him. 

Cas - once he looked at Dean and the two boxes he was carrying - walked fast towards him, trying to help Dean with them.

“I got it” Dean said. 

He laid the boxes onto the table, and turned around to look at Cas, the words ready to leave his lips, but then, when he met Cas’s face, he found a strange look on his eyes. Cas had stopped middle way when Dean had cut him off, and hadn’t moved since. He had his head down, as if he was bothered by something, and his eyes bore something which was starting to piss Dean off.

The angel looked sorry and a little sad as he glanced at Dean once again. And then, suddenly a new wave of anger ran through Dean’s body. He’d seen that look before - when some neighbors walked past him on the road one day, when those people at the bar threw furtive looks at him. Cas was _pitying_ him.

“So, have you found the other things you were looking for?” Dean said, the words he had meant to say now lost. He leaned on the table again, looking at the boxes he’d just brought in, looking at anywhere but Cas’s eyes.

“Yes” 

There was a moment of silence in which Dean suddenly realized his heart was beating faster and his breathing was uneven. He was tired. And his grip over the edge of the table fastened when he stated it was a result of carrying those things from the dungeon to the research room.

Maybe Cas sensed something was wrong, for Dean soon listened to his footsteps moving towards him, and, in the next moment, Castiel stopped beside him, leaning on the table too. Dean straightened his back at once, ready to find that look on Cas’s eyes again - and start a fight.

But when their eyes met, instead of pity, he saw the old Cas in quick glimpses – but finally there –, and at once a warm feeling eased his sore chest, and he loosened his grip on the table. He felt the sensation he had looked for in his bedroom, and in all of the rooms of the empty bunker. 

He had thought that, because the bunker had been there untouched, for several years, it would still keep some of the old feelings in it. Now, it was ironic he’d found them not in a static thing, but in a man whom he hadn’t seen for years, and who had been changing constantly since then. But it was there - the feeling he wanted so bad-, there, in the way Cas looked at him.

Then Cas, after a moment, broke the contemplative silence, although he didn’t break the eye-contact.

“I think we should take off” he paused briefly, eyes never moving away from Dean’s, his look intense as always “I already put the boxes I need in there” he pointed at the bottom of the stairs and they broke eye-contact for the first time after that long moment.

Dean saw six boxes put carefully on the ground, waiting to be lifted, ready to go away, and that made him look at Cas again, a sudden desperate look on his eyes. It was time to go, and Dean realized he didn’t want that - not when he’d finally been able to connect with Cas again. 

But he couldn’t actually ask for Cas to stay. He had chosen to step away from that life, and, besides, - even though there had been a brief moment of connection between them - he hadn’t answered Dean in all of those years. Well, that should be a clue to his will towards the issue.

So Dean held his words back as he had held many back in the days they were closer - words which he’d forgotten by now and which couldn’t be rescued, because they wouldn’t make sense now.

“Okay” was all that left his mouth “I suppose you’ll just disappear with them now”

Cas looked down.

“Actually, it’s been a long healing process of what was left of my grace – if you remember it” he added the last words fast.

“Of course I remember it, dumb head” Dean said, his voice warming up.

Then Cas’s eyes suddenly softened, a faint smile showed up on his lips. He wasn’t expecting it, Dean noticed. Then Cas nodded slightly.

“My wings were broken, because of the little grace I had left, and I’ve been healing them slowly” he said “It’s not an easy process to reestablish something as angel’s wings or its grace. Even now, I can only fly for short distances and I’m incapable of bringing anything – or anyone - with me”

“How did you get to my house then?” Dean asked, and then suddenly remembered Cas’s old vehicle “Did you bring a car?”

“Yes” he answered “I left it on the road, a little distant from your house, because I feared an angel would track it down and find you. I didn’t want to involve you in all of this”

Dean realized how easily he’d assumed Cas had total power again, that he’d arrived in his house in the same way he used to in the past. Then, a sudden idea came up on his mind, clear and alarming.

Maybe Cas really hadn’t been able to show up during all of those years; maybe things had gotten pretty ugly and he had no time to waste in order to protect his own life. Maybe he’d even blamed himself for not coming when Dean had called him. And Dean hadn’t even given him the chance of explaining himself.

Dean hadn’t felt as if he’d disappointed Cas for a long while, but he recognized the old feeling as it hit him. And, underneath it, he spotted an unexpected happiness too - after all, now there was a chance Cas hadn’t left him spontaneously.

“I’ll take the boxes upstairs” Cas said, and Dean realized Cas had already walked towards the stairs while he pondered all of those thoughts.

“I’ll help you with those” Dean rushed to say.

He lifted the two boxes from the table. His breathing and heartbeat had stabilized, but, God, they felt heavier than when he’d brought them in.

Cas stopped on his way to pick up the boxes and looked back at Dean.

“Are you sure you want to take those? They’re the heavier ones”

The patronizing tone in Cas’s voice made a little of resentment crawl back into Dean’s mind. He wanted to settle things between them, to forget that uncomfortable mistrust on his capacity, so he needed to prove everything was fine, that Cas didn’t have to worry about it - not when they had so many more important things to discuss. So he rushed to walk towards Cas. 

“You think of me as an incapable old man, Cas?” Dean said “I said it before, _I got this_ ”

Actually, he doubted of his own words once he set foot on the first step. His legs trembled a bit, weak under the weight of the boxes. There had been a while since he didn’t hunt and he’d never been used to exercising just for the sake of it like Sam did. He knew he’d gotten weaker over the years, but he had accepted it, it wasn’t as if he needed that much strength to fix holes on the roof once in a while. 

But now he felt the books weighting against him, getting heavier as he got closer to the top of the stairs. He thought Cas would be down there, eyes on him. He couldn’t rest now. He just needed to get to the top, lay the boxes in the Impala, and they would travel back home. 

_Just a few more steps_.

Cas was indeed down there, he’d picked up three of the boxes and was starting to climb the stairs, his eyes fixated on Dean. He realized at once when his movements got slower, heavier, and he walked faster towards him.

Dean didn’t notice it - maybe he’d gotten too tired, maybe his thoughts had distracted him -, but the next thing he felt was his foot bumping against one of the steps. He fell forward, the boxes falling down as he put his hands over his face in a reflex. 

He hit the ground, feeling vividly when his ankles and knees and hands collided against its iron surface. He felt pain starting to throb in his muscles, and he looked forward, facing the dark color of the step in front of him, realizing his glasses had almost fallen out of his face.

But he hadn’t much time to focus on his own body, as his attention was suddenly drawn to the sound of other boxes falling to the ground and steps coming fast toward him. He felt as Cas’s hands turned him over, and then he saw Cas’s eyes over him, worried.

“Dean, are you okay?” he said, his hand resting on Dean’s left shoulder.

He made mention of lifting Dean up on his arms and taking him to the top of the stairs, but Dean wouldn’t let him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine - _Jesus_ ” he said as he pushed Cas away “It was just an miscalculation, Cas, it’s not as if you’ve never seen me falling”

Cas straightened his back, still looking at Dean, his eyes still worried. He wasn’t buying it, he could hear Dean’s heart pounding on his chest, he could see his legs shaking a bit by tiredness.

“I’ll take care of the boxes” he said, suddenly harsh. He wouldn’t let Dean try and hurt himself again “Dean, stay here”

Dean was ready to complain, to get up again and show Cas he was fine, that his body could still accompany his. But when he rested his hands on the step - in order to push himself up-, he felt them tremble, his body asking for a while to recover itself. His joints and muscles hurt. 

He wasn’t used to such a tiring day – both emotionally and physically. The few hours of sleep, the emotional rollercoaster which had been meeting Cas again, the memories from past days in the bunker, the stupid books which weighted too much. 

He just felt like lying there and not getting up for a long while. He wished time would pass him by without making itself noticed, that he could somehow mingle with the steps and stay there, observing his past, till everything ended.

Cas had already picked up the two boxes Dean had dropped and had put the few books that had fallen out back in them. He passed by Dean, too fast, too easily. Dean rested his head on his hands, suddenly back from his thoughts. 

He remembered the many times he and Cas had fought together. Cas went downstairs again. Flashes of battles came to Dean: their team to catch Lucifer and kill him with the Colt; their time on purgatory; when Dean was under the influence of the mark and had beaten Cas up in that same room.

Cas passed by him once again, that time carrying three boxes. Dean felt as the tears gathered on his eyes, and he bit his lip, reprehending himself for them. He couldn’t cry. He just couldn’t. Cas passed by him once again, in order to catch the last boxes, and Dean looked down, a few tears falling from his eyes.

If Cas noticed he was crying, he didn’t stop to check on him, and Dean was grateful for that. He took the last boxes and Dean could hear as he opened the door of the bunker to take them to the Impala. Then he suddenly was alone again, listening to Cas’s steps getting away. 

He let more tears roll down his face when he faced the fact that he hadn’t been able to carry those boxes upstairs; a few more fell from his eyes, because he felt worthless, and he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t even felt like getting up, having to face Cas, having to drive all the way back - and, worse, having to go home alone once again, having to resume his uneventful life.

Then he heard Cas getting in again, but he didn’t turn. He heard as he stopped for a moment and then carried on. _Maybe thinking about what to say to cheer me up_ , Dean thought bitterly. But Cas didn’t say anything, he just reached him and stood beside him, sitting on the same step he was. He didn’t look at Dean at first.

“I was thinking” he started “maybe we should stop to eat something on the way to your house” only then he looked up at Dean “I constantly forget you need eating”

Dean knew Cas’s invitation had as its purpose making him feel better, and, at that moment, Dean wasn’t actually feeling disposed to that. So he didn’t answer anything at first and he and Cas just stood there, silent. Dean looked ahead, at nothing in specific; Cas glanced at him from time to time.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation” Cas said.

Dean hummed, still looking ahead. His anxiety and anger were now getting more bearable. He looked at Cas then, his dirty glasses blurring the known face a little.

“Okay” Dean said, as if Cas was the only one interested in that conversation.

He was still a little embarrassed by the whole situation, and it was so painful for Cas to see Dean like that. He was bare, there were none of the usual defense mechanisms - no irony, no changing subjects. Castiel felt like invading his privacy by seeing him like that. 

Cas had rescued him from Hell, and back there Dean was even more shattered, of course, but he wasn’t aware of that fact. Now, Dean knew exactly how he was, and it looked like his strength to try covering it up had finally ended.

Cas watched him as he got up, slowly, as if he was afraid of doing so. Cas got up too then, and rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder before they walk to the door. Dean looked at him, a little startled.

“I think I’ve seen a place on the road where they serve pie” Cas said, after a moment, and smiled a bit “You know there’s nothing to be ashamed of, Dean” he added, squeezing Dean’s shoulder slightly and then pulling his hand back.

Dean stood still for a moment - as though he was thinking of what Cas had said - then he followed him to the door, checking his pocket to find out the Impala keys were still in there. Cas was the first to leave the bunker, but before he walked past the door, he threw a glance behind him - Dean would never know whether he was looking at him or at the bunker.

Dean left right after Cas, but he locked the door behind him without a last look backwards.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas stop to eat as Cas had suggested. It's another opportunity to settle things between them and it finally looks like they're moving towards an agreement. However, Dean doesn't know whether that will be enough to change the way he'd expected that day to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually quite happy I finished this. As it took me so long - because I would stop writing for months and then come back to it - I thought I'd abandon it at some point.
> 
> But, no, I was able to bring all the angst to you <3 
> 
> So, well, this is it. Enjoy the final part.

The coffee was cooling in front of Cas. But he didn’t mind, it was just a cover anyway. What he was worried about was Dean’s plate - where the entire pie still rested - and Dean’s coffee - which lay untouched. Dean himself was looking at the window, as immobile as his food. It had started raining again, the air was moist, the sky, gray - no sunshine to transpierce those heavy, wet clouds.

Dean suddenly looked at Cas, right into his eyes, but he wasn’t seeing him. The sky was the purest blue he could remember, Sam was sitting beside Cas, and Bobby was sitting beside him. There was a half-eaten pie on the plate in front of Dean; Cas had that funny look on his face of when he doesn’t get something. He raised his hands to get a bite of the pie, and then he saw the wrinkles on it.

And the rainy day was back. The smiles were gone, the hot weather had left. The pie in front of him remained there, untouched.

“You don’t want it?” Cas asked, trying to get Dean’s attention as his eyes were lost somewhere beyond the window.

“Not hungry” Dean said simply, turning his head at Cas and smiling slightly.

“Well, that does not sound like you”

“A lot of things I do these days don’t _sound_ like me, Cas. I’d risk saying almost _all_ of my current life doesn’t sound like me at all” he looked down, taking the cup of coffee at last and putting a little bit of sugar in it.

“There’s no such a thing” Cas said, his voice firm “We- _you_ , humans, you’re not a static thing. All you are today, Dean, it’s all you. It may be different from the old you, but it’s you nevertheless”

_You_. No, he hadn’t included himself in it, and yet, Dean had _seen_ Castiel changing through the years. But now, maybe he was right, he was as cold as the day they had met. He was an angel, nothing else – at least not anymore.

“I get up early in the mornings” Dean scoffed “ _Me_. And I do house tasks, I clean, I read the papers, I watch the news on TV” he moved his eyes to the pie, beholding it for a while “Do you really think all of these things sound like me?”

“You’re… different, yes, Dean” Cas said, his eyes now soft “I’ve seen it the moment I lay my eyes on you, but I’ve also seen the old you there. You’re still yourself, Dean, you don’t have to worry about it. You chose a path, and you stuck to it, and” he paused a bit, measuring his words “I’m… glad you got a way out of that life which never brought you any good”

“Well” Dean sipped his coffee, making a face at the bitter taste “at least then I felt worth to someone”

Cas’s eyes then suddenly darkened, any trace of easiness was gone from his features.

“Is it _that_ hard to realize you deserve something better, something different than die in a hunt, killing things?” his harsh voice made Dean tremble a bit. Yes, he reminded him of the Cas he’d first met.

There was a moment when everything was still, Cas looking deep into Dean’s eyes. Then, Dean started laughing.

“I remember you saying” he said between giggles “ _You don’t think you deserve to be saved_ ” he mimicked Cas’s frown, and his harsh voice.

Cas sighed, relaxing on the chair, straightening his back. After all the time they spent together, after all that Cas had done for Dean, Dean _still_ thought he didn’t deserve any of it. It hurt Cas to realize it, for all he’d ever wanted, since he had taken Dean out of Hell, was to see him happy again. And one of the things that comforted Cas once Dean had said they would go on separate ways was knowing that he would probably be better like that, that he would find the peace Cas wished so bad him to have.

Dean noticed the moment sadness fell on Cas’s face. He watched as the angel lowered his head, and, when he spoke again, his voice was soft, too low.

“And you never thought of moving on? Of building a family? The house looked proper for that kind of thing” he still had his head down, avoiding eye-contact.

Dean licked his lips, gulping. He rested his back against the chair too, frowning.

“My last attempt of doing it ended with them getting hurt” he paused a bit, feeling he was too emotional to start mentioning Lisa and Ben “And letting them go was certainly the best thing I could have ever done. But I don’t think I could bear it another time. Hurting them, and also letting them go”

Cas looked at him, his eyes full of pain, a deep pain like the one on the former hunter’s eyes. Dean saw words on his eyes, but Cas thought there was no point in saying them now.

“I’m an old man, Cas” Dean said “I’ve made it. I’ve lived for more than sixty years, I’m having a quiet, domestic life; but there is not much more to it. There is no time – nor energy, I should say – for a changing in my life. There is not even a point to it”

The words were still in Cas’s eyes when he nodded, still staring at Dean. Then, he looked through the window, bringing his hands to his lap, as if he was cold – even though Dean knew his grace protected him from it. 

Cas as a human, that would be an interesting thing to see, Dean thought. If he’d never got his grace back, how would everything be right now? An image of Cas, freezing, wearing tons of coats came to him, and then another of Cas eating and enjoying pancakes in the morning. He smiled slightly.

But it didn’t matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t picture Cas as an old man, he couldn’t see wrinkles on his face, he couldn’t see decay on him. Then, it suddenly hit him.

“Cas” he started, and Cas turned to face him again “how old are you?”

Cas pondered for a while, then he rested his elbows on the table and lay his chin on his hands, looking at Dean.

“As old as the Earth” he answered, and his response sounded natural “independent of when you think it happened - of whether you believe in the Bible or in the scientific explanation - in the end, they’re different ways of telling the same story” there was a bittersweet tone on his voice.

Dean sighed, looking through the window again. He could feel a weight on his chest.

“Yes” he said “It doesn’t actually matter which is our belief, does it? All those people praying, and investigating. It’s never been in our hands, right? In the end, nothing of these things matter - nothing of what you’ve done matter –, we all decay. And there is no other point of view to this part of the story”

“I’m afraid you’re right” Cas said, looking away as Dean sipped from his coffee again “I believe some people are calling this entropy”

Descending into chaos. It sounded right, Dean thought. He looked down at his cup of coffee.

“And to think I believed I knew you, Cas” Dean said, making Cas look at him again, faster that time.

“You do know me, Dean. The things I’ve done in these last years, I’m, I’m s-”

“No, no, I’m not talking about this” Dean interrupted him, not letting the word _sorry_ leave Cas’s lips “I mean, even if I tried, I couldn’t _really_ know you, and everything you’ve done. I thought I knew you, and the truth is that all I’ve ever known were a few years, compared to centuries, millenniums”

Cas’s eyes didn’t leave Dean. He frowned.

“You know me, Dean, I’d risk to say, actually, you know me better than anyone”

“No, but Cas, I realized it, I’m just human. And you must have known so many humans before me. And I’ll die, and you’ll know many more after my death” he scoffed, a weird sensation building inside of him. He felt anxiety on his stomach, a little terror of realizing how tiny he was. How _insignificant_ he was to time - or to someone as old as Cas. Now the fact of Cas leaving him didn’t sound so absurd, after all, it should be natural to angels, letting people go.

But when Dean raised his eyes again, he found Cas looking at him intensively, his eyes looked hurt.

“Don’t even consider that, Dean” he said, calmly, slowly.

And Dean knew what he was talking about.

“It’s _not_ the truth” Cas said again, more fiercely now.

“What?” Dean giggled, amazed that he was joking about that “That you’ll forget me?”

“I _won’t_ ” and there was so much certain on Cas’s voice that Dean almost believed in it.

“Oh, come on, Cas” he said, shaking his head “You say that now, but not even you, not even an angel with those freaking weird powers is able to remember everything. I myself know that time weaken things - pain, caring -, because it weakens memories. I’ve felt it during these few years, I can’t even imagine how erased things can get in a thousand years”

“Dean, this is not why I haven’t visited you. I didn’t forget-” Cas then just stopped talking. He looked anxious for the first time in a very long while.

“Yeah, and you still haven’t explained that” Dean said “But what I’m saying is that compared to the people you’ll know, to the things you’ll see, compared to the future, Cas, I’m old, and it’s natural to be forgotten”

A heavy silence was raised between them. Cas looked down, frustrated at the vain attempts of making Dean see things differently. He said nothing, because he knew it was true, he knew _almost_ everything Dean had just said was true.

“Yes, I’ve seen lots of things, Dean” he said, raising his head again “And I can’t remember everything, I admit it” his voice was lower, harsher than usual.

There was a long pause, Dean almost assumed that was all Cas had to say. But he wasn’t done just yet.

“But, yet” he started and paused again, thinking over how to put the words together in the best way he could “Dean, you consider yourself old, as you’ve told me, but can’t you remember your childhood? Can’t you remember Sam as a young boy or these few memories which appear to be bound to your head? Few, special moments?”

“Yes, I guess” Dean said, frowning.

“Well, it’s the same to me” he said “I remember Italy during the Renascence, and the bloody Great War so vividly as though it had happened yesterday. There are some things we _can’t_ simply forget, because they had a great impact on us - because of its beauty, or because of its horror” he paused “But there are certain things we don’t forget” 

Dean’s eyes didn’t move from his. 

“You’re family, Dean, you’re the first concept I had of a real family. I could never forget you”

At that moment, Dean felt a lump on his throat. He bit his lips, his eyes became trimmed with tears.

“So, are you comparing me to the Renascence or to the Great War?” he still tried to sound controlled.

“I’m comparing you to none of them, Dean, because there is no moment in my life in which I felt the way I did when I decided to help you. When I fell, when things got apart, I’d never known myself as well as I did in those moments. And it’s all-“ he paused, licking his lips, suddenly a little shy “It’s all thanks to you. You’re one of the most important moments in my life, and no one can change that”

Cas knew how long term memories got blurry, he knew he would forget Dean’s voice, he knew the memory of him itself would become vague and undefined. He wasn’t naive about that, but what mattered was that he wouldn’t forget him, it didn’t matter how hard time tried to erase Dean from his memory. Even if it was only the idea of him, a moment they shared, a way Dean made him feel, Cas would maintain him alive in his head, as he couldn’t do it any other way.

Dean looked down, at the pie, a little uncertain. He wanted to ask Cas again about why he hadn’t answered him, but somehow, he didn’t feel like that was the right moment to do it. Not when they’d finally bounded again, not when he’d finally noticed he was mistaken about Cas not caring about him. 

He remembered Cas saying he hadn’t visited him because he wanted to keep him safe, and maybe that was the truth. It still made him a little mad not knowing for sure, but now he trusted Cas again. Maybe he shouldn’t, maybe Cas was lying to get away with that, maybe he should have learned not to trust angels after all of those years. 

But, once again, he looked at Cas and he felt safe to talk, he felt that known tenderness towards him, and he thought that if he had been wrong about Cas for all of those years, it wouldn’t matter now. Believing he actually knew Cas, that Cas cared about him, was less painful. The fear of being mistaken and betrayed again wasn’t bigger than what Cas meant to him.

Dean finally nodded. He raised his hand and gripped the fork.

“Well, I think we’ve already talked for too long” he told Cas, looking at him “Now it’s time to eat this pie”

Dean grabbed the first bite and found out Cas was smiling at him.

“What?” Dean asked, mouth full of pie.

“Nothing” Cas said, still smiling and then looking down.

_I don’t want to make you uncomfortable_ , Cas thought, focusing on the plate in front of him.

Dean looked at him while he ate the pie, and, for one moment, he saw the past once again, as if that was nothing but an alternate reality, like the one Zacharias had showed him. But he let himself set his mind in the present again, he felt the hard chair he was sitting in, he felt the cold in his fingers, he felt the sweet taste of the pie. He knew he belonged there, he knew that there might be other versions of him, but he was the one that belonged in that place. He ate another bite. 

He was mad at time, not at Cas. 

Somehow, it made things easier, but not easier enough.

 

***

 

It had just stopped raining, the air had that smell of wet earth. The afternoon brought the sun prying from behind the clouds from time to time. Dean parked the car in front of his garage. He took his bag and got out, looking at the sky, searching for a sign of an oncoming rain. 

He walked towards the house, and Cas followed him for a short distance, both of them looking at the sky. Five birds rose from the forest nearby and flew right above them. Dean and Cas stopped, contemplating them. Then, Dean resumed his walk, but Cas didn’t move. The wind blew on his trench coat, he had his eyes on Dean.

“I-“ he started, and Dean suddenly stopped, realizing Cas wasn’t following him anymore.

He turned around, his face was a little sad, but it wasn’t surprised.

“I should get going” Cas finished, still staring at Dean.

The wind whistled between them.

“Yeah” Dean said, after a while “I wondered when you’d say that. I thought that-“ he looked at the ground and then at Cas again “I thought that maybe you could stay for a little longer, you know, for the old times” he smiled slightly, but the faint happiness didn’t reach his eyes.

Cas had his hands inside his pockets. He licked his lips, looking down, obviously embarrassed.

“I- uh” he cleared his throat “Heaven needs me, Dean. I- I ought to go”

“Oh, yeah” Dean smirked sarcastically “I’ve forgotten. Heaven. Of course”

“I’ll-I’ll try to stop by more often”

Dean then dropped his bag onto the grass and stepped forward, till he was face to face with Cas. Then, the angel felt he should look up at him. When he did, his eyes were sad.

“Hey, I’ve got nothing to worry about” Dean grinned “You’ve made a great job so far by keeping in touch”

Cas opened his mouth, ready to explain himself once again, but Dean was tired. He was tired of listening to Cas’s excuses, he was tired of trying to figure out the real reason for his absence. He wanted Cas to stay, and, at the same time, Cas being there consumed too much of his energy, it brought him too many sad memories. He didn’t need more of them. Maybe there had been some day when he could have asked Cas to stay, but he sensed he was a bit out of timing now.

“You don’t need to explain it” Dean said, patting him on the shoulder, and leaving his hand there “I know, you wanted to protect me, right?” he smiled slightly.

Then, for the first time, Dean saw a true expression of desperation in Cas’s eyes. His lips curved down slightly, he saw the angel’s eyes trimmed with tears. Dean was surprised then. He had gotten to take the cold mask off Cas’s face, but that wasn’t what he was hoping to find underneath it.

“Hey, hey” Dean squeezed Cas’s shoulder “As I used to tell Sam, no chick flick moments”

Cas smiled faintly.

“So, this-“ he gulped down “This is it, I guess. A farewell”

“Well, you always come back, don’t you? I mean, it may take you fifteen years, but you always come back”

“Dean-“

“I’ll wait” he interrupted Cas, and the he paused, before saying the next words “I’ll wait for you”

Dean knew that might not be the case. He knew that, when Cas did came back, maybe he wouldn’t find him anymore. But it was easier that way. He’d never liked goodbyes anyway.

“You know where you can find me” he carried on “I’ll be here. Maybe when Heaven is at peace again, when you have no douchebags to fight against-” _Or when whatever’s keeping you from staying here allows you_ “Maybe then, you can pay me a visit. It may sound odd, but I’m actually a very good cook, you can show up for lunch, or dinner” he smiled.

Cas smiled back at him, lowering his eyes again. The tears on his eyes had dried. 

Dean reached out his hand. It took a moment for Cas to take it. They shook hands briefly, looking at each other’s eyes.

“It’s been a pleasure” Dean said, his voice dry.

“I agree” Cas answered simply.

Dean broke eye-contact when he turned around, picking up his bag and walking towards the house again. Dean didn’t feel so well. As he walked, his steps seemed somehow heavier, he felt anxiety on his stomach. He stopped, and looked back at Cas, at the dirty trench coat, and he remembered the old blue tie he used to wear. It still felt like a goodbye, even if no one had said it. They stood there for a moment, looking at each other.

Cas was the one who first stepped forward. He walked the distance which parted them fast and hugged Dean strongly. Dean’s arms closed around Cas, his hands resting on his back. He gulped down, feeling Cas resting his head on his shoulder. 

_Why the hell had it to be too late?_

But Dean couldn’t. He couldn’t say the words he wanted to, he hadn’t said them in the past, he couldn’t say them now. So they just stayed there, for a long moment which none of them cared to count. Dean knew that when he let go of Cas, it would be it. And so he held him a little longer, as many seconds as he could get.

Then, Cas finally loosened his grip on him, and Dean pulled back. They both looked at each other and, after a while, they nodded. Dean turned around, taking a few steps and picking up the bag again. He walked the short distance to the door - his feet still getting heavier by the second -, trying to guess the moment in which Cas would disappear in thin air.

When he stopped at the door and took the keys out of his pockets, he looked back one last time, expecting to find nothing but his old Impala. But the angel was still there, watching him. 

He raised one hand in a sign of farewell, and Dean raised his hand too.

It had started raining again, a cold thin rain. Dean waited for a while, assuming Cas would take off then, but he didn’t. And, in the end, it was Dean who entered the house and closed the door.

 

***

 

 

Cas stood there, watching as Dean walked away from him. He remained still even though every cell in his body wished to follow him. He pictured the scene, he saw himself moving - the steps slow at first -, he saw himself hugging Dean again. He felt happiness in his chest, like the sunshine that had pierced through the clouds in that grey day.

Then, Dean was still far away. He climbs the stairs, he waves, he closes the door. He’s gone.

Cas stood there, even though the rain got heavier. The boxes he visited Dean for were on his feet. He looked at them. Something was bothering him, attaching him to the ground, not letting him leave.

_Dean smiles._

_You want to protect me, right?_

Cas gulped down. The war in Heaven was so bloody, so dangerous, and so exhausting. No one had learned anything from the past. There’s always someone who rises, who seeks power, and all the ways lead to war. Cas knew his family has always been like that, and it always would be. They had eternity to spoil a moment of peace.

The angel looked once again at the house. Heaven, and all of his worries seemed to be so tiny then. They had always done, compared to Dean. Cas hadn’t understood humanity till he met him, the righteous man. He was scarred, and vicious. And yet, to Cas, he looked perfect the way he were. He didn’t know how to love himself, and so Cas had loved him, for the both of them.

He’d done anything, everything.

_to protect me, right?_

Cas had always wanted Dean to be safe, and Dean had had enough of trouble for a lifetime. Cas wanted him to be safe, and happy, at last. He was protecting Dean. They had followed two different paths, and they’d arrived in two very different places. Cas couldn’t bring his world to Dean’s door, not again. He wanted Dean to have the peace he himself couldn’t have.

God, Cas repeats it so often on his mind that he thinks he might even start believing in it someday. But, deep under his skin, there’s the truth, itching, scratching, trying to come to the surface. And Cas hated it. 

Dean had never asked him to stay. He’d never made mention of showing he wanted it in any way but a stare. He’d just decided to stop hunting, and he’d told them to get apart. Maybe Cas should have said something back then. Maybe he should have held Dean’s hand and told him everything he’d always wanted to. But he couldn’t get it out of his chest, and so he went on with Dean’s decision.

The years that followed it had been the worse Cas had ever experienced. He tried to understand where it all had gone wrong, and why. He tried to get over his hopeless for not having Dean by his side anymore. And he couldn’t find an answer. 

Then he had wished so many times to get back. But, every time Cas watched over him, Dean would seem to be better than he’d ever been in their time together. He didn’t have to bear so much responsibility now, he could wake up to a safe place, he could have fun without worrying about a case, and he seemed to be happy. And Cas accepted it, even if it didn’t include him.

Learning to live without Dean, to accept a future that hadn’t Dean in it, it all had hurt - more than he’d ever admit to any of his siblings. He’d told them about Dean, of course, but not all of it - not how he couldn’t picture himself moving on, not how his chest seemed to actually hurt because of his loss.

But Cas had overcome all of that. He had changed, and, even though he hated to admit it to himself, the truth was that he hadn’t answered Dean because he was afraid of the pain it would bring him. He couldn’t get himself involved again, knowing he would soon have to let Dean go. He didn’t know whether he would be able to rise a second time.

Now, for that same reason, he didn’t follow Dean. Cas stood in the rain, rethinking his decisions, wanting to do it differently this time, to stay with Dean now. However, the pain attached him to the ground. And he hated himself for that.

But one goodbye was enough.

Maybe time would make it hurt less.

 

 

***

 

Dean was sitting on his armchair, he had the remote control on his hand and he was switching channels fast. His eyes, fixed on a point, merely saw the contents on each TV channel before his finger changed it. 

He finally turned the TV off, taking the bottle of beer from the floor and sipping it. The bottle was cold and wet, it left a ring on the wooden floor. Dean got up, taking the bottle with his left hand and wiping the right one on his jeans. Then he walked slowly to the window, pulling aside a little bit of the curtain so he could see Cas still outside, looking at the house, just where he’d left him.

Dean sighed.

His mind kept going back to minutes ago, to when they’d parted after the long hug, when their eyes had met briefly. Maybe he should have said something.

Maybe he should have asked him to _stay_ with him. When they had stopped the Apocalypse and Sam had been trapped in the cage; when he had told Cas goodbye outside that gas station shop; even when they were alone in his bedroom, in the day Dean had become human again, after his demonic version had tried to kill Sam. He could also have asked him to stay fifteen years ago, when he’d decided to get another life. Maybe he should have asked him to stay with him, because, in his heart, he’d never wanted Cas to go.

Maybe he should have told Cas he _loved_ him. When he had looked back as they were leaving Cas trapped in a burning circle of holy oil; when he had found Cas and given his trench coat back after he’d disappeared on that lake; when Cas was beating him up in that crypt and he needed to reach him beyond Naomi’s mind control.

Maybe he should have _kissed_ him. When he’d found him in Purgatory; when Gadreel had brought him back to life after he had been stabbed; when they had stood alone in his bedroom, in the bunker, or in a motel room, looking at each other for more than a conventional time.

Now, looking at Cas outside, there was again that burning wish on his chest of running to him, and asking him to stay, and telling him he loved him still, and kissing him.

But he could feel how he was out of timing, how it was too late. He had had every chance to tell him that, but he hadn’t. And still, Cas standing there, in the rain, made him happy somehow, and he looked at him for several minutes. It was as if he finally understood what all the looks, all the actions had meant in all of those years. 

He knew for certain, in that moment, that Cas felt the same way about him. And, even though Dean was aware that there was no clear possibility of them getting together now, he realized the feelings he had for Cas didn’t necessarily demand it.

Now, he understood why Cas had said he wouldn’t forget him. They weren’t like a big fire, which would burn a whole forest, and then extinguish itself. They were more like a little flame that would always burn, deep inside dense woods, and the only proves of its existence would be some smoke that would occasionally pierce through the high leaves of the trees. And, no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t extinguish that little flame.

Dean smiled peacefully as he realized that, looking at his kitchen from the living room. He slowly turned to the window again, and pulled the curtain aside slightly. The only thing that met his eyes was the Impala.

Cas was gone. 

He stood there, watching as the rain fell, looking at the spot on the grass where Cas had been seconds ago. Dean wasn’t smiling anymore, but he wasn’t mad, he wasn’t fearful anymore. His feelings for Cas had existed for such a long time now, they were almost part of who he was. 

Caring about Cas and loving Cas came naturally to him, it was like an automatic response to the relationship they had built over the years. He wouldn’t stop loving him now. And Dean knew, in a certain way, that Cas hadn’t stopped caring about him either. It was on his eyes - he realized it now-, every time during that day, even though when they appeared cold.

Then, after a while watching the rain, Dean walked to his chair and put the bottle on the ground. He looked up discreetly, barely moving his head. 

He smiled slightly again.

“I know you watch over me still” he whispered.

Then, he rested his head on his armchair and turned the TV on.

 

***

 

Dean still lived for many years after that day, although he didn’t see Cas again.

He went back to his ordinary life. He visited his friends at the bar a little more often. He traveled to see Sam and his niece at least once a week; they would have dinner, or even go to the movies together. 

Sam bought him a dog, which he would sometimes allow getting in the Impala. He would drive some nights - when he couldn’t sleep-, heading nowhere. He would just turn on the radio and let the classic rock and the sound of the wheels on the desert, dark road calm his mind down.

And he prayed to Cas. 

Every night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did say it at the begging, I wrote it the way I imagine it would end if they keep pushing Cas away and stuff, not – _definitely_ not – how I’d like it to end.
> 
> I guess that’s it, thanks for who accompanied this short story.
> 
> And, as always, let me know what you think :)  
> Hope you guys have enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys have enjoyed it - despite it being really sad hahahahhaha
> 
> I'll post the second part of it soon, I think.
> 
> And, as always, let me know what you think :)


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